


It's Me They Hear

by CandyRotten



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, M/M, Multi, nockfell is a big city for plot reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyRotten/pseuds/CandyRotten
Summary: The Addison Metal Opera House was easily one of the most visited spots in Nockfell, by citizens or tourists alike. Its gothic architecture, simulating grand theaters and cathedrals one could find in Europe, combined with its concept purpose of bringing Opera and the modern hard rock, heavy metal music together, gained fame rather quickly.It was a place that attracted all kinds of public, and seemed to satisfy them all with what they offered.Larry Johnson was a fan.





	1. The Addison Metal Opera House

The bustling city slowed down, with the dim light of twilight filtering in through the windows. Cars passed by with their lights on and slowly, the apartments in the distance lit up as their occupants returned home from work. Nighttime was closing in and that meant it was time to work. Larry got up promptly, fixing his dungaree’s shoulder strap and heading upstairs to the backstage.

The Addison Metal Opera House was easily one of the most visited spots in Nockfell, by citizens or tourists alike. Its gothic architecture, simulating grand theaters and cathedrals one could find in Europe, combined with its concept purpose of bringing Opera and the modern hard rock, heavy metal music together, gained fame rather quickly. 

It was a place that attracted all kinds of public, and seemed to satisfy them all with what they offered.

Larry Johnson was a fan. However, he didn’t have money to pay for a seat in the house, no. He watched from behind the curtains, devoted to the artists, big dark eyes shining with the dream of joining them onstage. One day, he’d stand under the spotlight, in a black button down and trousers, and he’d sing his heart out to the crowd. And they’d applaud, and throw black roses at his feet, and-

“LARRY!” Mrs. Gibson’s shriek yanked him out of his reverie so hard he thought he might have pulled a muscle. “Why aren’t the trees finished yet?!”

“Coming right up Mrs. Gibson!” He called out, bending over quickly to fetch the paintbrush and the bucket of black paint, and rushing towards the stage, where a ladder waited for him. 

Being a handyman for the Opera House was all Larry had ever known for the last ten years of his life. It had been one cold winter when his father passed away. The funeral had been beautiful, with ice decorating the statues and  tombstones around them, and snowflakes kissing the casket as it was lowered into the ground. He was eight at the time. 

His mother’s struggle to keep him warm and well fed had gotten her ill, and illness never helps when you have to work. Soon enough they were kicked out of their small apartment, and for three nights, the asphalt of the street was the only bed beneath his clothes. 

Mrs. Rosenberg had found them. Taking pity on the two, she offered them an opportunity. To live on the basement of her associate’s newfounded theater. They would be in charge of taking care of it, cleaning, helping the dancers with their every need, making sure that the Addison Metal Opera House was always perfect. In exchange, they’d have a roof over their heads, a bed to sleep in, and meals every single day. 

Lisa Johnson couldn’t refuse. And that’s how they ended up living in and for Nockfell's famous theater, their House, in more ways than one.

“LARRY!” 

Larry cringed at Mrs. Gibson’s shriek, once again snapping him out of his memories. 

“These trees look thinner than the stupid ballerinas!” 

“Yes, Mrs. Gibson.” Larry sighed, brandishing his paintbrush and putting a special effort to thicken the branches. 

“And make it quick! Our main attraction-” 

The doors to the stalls slammed and Mrs. Gibson, the House’s wardrobe supervisor gasped. “He’s here!”

Larry looked over his shoulder and, regretting his decision, immediately turned back to his painting. 

Travis Phelps. Of course. How could anyone forget the House’s primadonna metal singer. (A little voice in his brain annoyingly whispered "primo uomo". He ignored the voice.) Mr. Phelps trailed behind the singer, their blonde heads of hair bouncing slightly with their angry, hurried steps. They always behaved like they were too important for anyone, and this entrance was no different. 

“Are you kidding me?” Travis began, his voice twisted into a high pitch that could put Mrs. Gibson’s shrieks to shame. “The stage isn’t done?! Unbelievable.” Setting his eyes on Larry, he scoffed. “No wonder. Lawrence Johnson is in charge of it.” 

Larry felt fire burning in his chest, and did his best to turn on top of the ladder, an ugly reply ready on his lips. However, he caught sight of his mother down by the orchestra pit, holding a broom close to herself. She looked at him and softly shook her head, pleading eyes staring up. 

He couldn’t say no to his mom. Especially now when she was so scared of losing their home and their job, with her growing illness making long shifts impossible.

Biting his tongue, Larry nodded once. “I’m almost done.” He decided on that, turning around to give the painted tree its finishing touches.

He could hear the Phelpses complaining behind him, but he was quick to tune it out. After he was done, he had to clean the changing rooms, check the lights and position himself by the ropes, where he’d pull the curtains. He had more important things to worry about than blonde bitching.

 

\-----

 

“Have you seen this?” Mrs. Rosenberg asked Mr. Addison, her business associate that owned 50% of the House. In her hand, an envelope, sealed with black wax and a stamp of a mask.

“....I thought.” Mr. Terrence Addison, began, his words failing him as he picked the envelope up. He swallows hard. “I thought he had left already.”

Mrs. Rosenberg’s head shakes solemnly. “Apparently just lying in wait..” She nods towards the envelope. “Read it. He has demands.”

“Demands?” Mr. Addison scoffed, breaking the wax seal and quickly skimming his eyes over the letter. His eyes widened. “Travis Phelps must be fired as primo uomo and, in his place….Lawrence Johnson?!” He read aloud, giving Mrs. Rosenberg a face. “He must be out of his mind. That’s the handyman!” 

“Apparently, he’s heard him sing and wants him to be the lead.” The old lady said, curling a strand of gray hair around her bony index finger. “I too find it absurd, but if we want to avoid…”consequences”....” She quoted, huffing slightly.

“Absolutely not.” Mr. Addison said, ripping the letter in two. Mrs. Rosenberg didn’t even flinch. “We will not attend to the wishes of this…child.” He huffs. “A manchild, living in the shadows, calling himself a ghost! He will not tell me how to run my theatre!” He tossed the letter on the floor, stomping on it. “He will not!”

Mrs. Rosenberg sighs, watching Terrence’s small frame stomp out from the backstage. She looks around, a small delighted smile on her lips when she finds who she wanted to see. “Lisa, dearest. Pick this up when you’re sweeping the stage? Its rubbish, so toss it out.” 

“Yes Mrs. Rosenberg.” Lisa said with a nod, moving her broom towards the papers. 

From the barely lit corner of the ceiling, a small, forgotten window laid open. A forgotten passageway to the rooftop laid behind the window, a passaged deemed too dangerous for the staff to use or access for cleaning purposes. Dust and spiders had made of the place their home. 

There, a shadow lurked. No one would think to look towards that corner, not even Mr. Addison. Eyes, darkened by the cover of a mask, stared down at the scene. And within a split second, they were gone, as if they had never been there in the first place.         



	2. Think of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to leave some musical inspo for this fic! If you're so inclined to check them out, I highly suggest it!
> 
> Think of Me (male cover) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ft4Z0SO6uqs  
> Phantom of The Opera medley (Lindsey Stirling) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCL94-MsxYc 
> 
> more links will be added in future chapters!

“Lawrence!” Travis barked from the changing room of the lead singers. “Get your butt over here!”

Larry sighed, lowering his head so his long hair hid his irritation. He stepped into the changing room, holding onto a box of wires. “It’s Larry. What do you want?” 

“Whatever. I want my herbal throat spray.” He waved a hand, not even looking at Larry in the face. He stared at his reflexion and fixed his heavy black eyeliner, that did not compliment at all his black priest-like robes. “It should be with my father. Go now.”

Larry ground his teeth, pulse rising with irritation. “I’m not your fucking slave.” He scowled, putting the box of wires down on the ground.

“True. You’re Mrs. Rosenberg’s, though.” Travis said, finally looking at Larry’s face. A pained expression crossed his brown eyes and Travis smirked, knowing full well he hit a nerve. “And while she pays for me to be here, you’re also my slave.” He looked back to his own reflection, moving his head side to side. “Now,  _ Larry _ . Go fetch my spray, otherwise I’ll be late for the tuning and last minute rehearsal!”

The way he said his nickname made his stomach churn. But Travis had already slapped him in the face with the ugly truth, so he could do nothing. He turned around, leaving to find Mr. Phelps.

“Prick.” He whispered under his breath, looking around the sea of people that walked backstage. “Has anyone seen Mr. Phelps?!” He cried out, looking around. The crowd within those narrow passageways lifted their heads to acknowledge Larry, even if they barely budged to give him room to walk. The dancers shook their heads in response. “Mr. Phelps, anyone?” The sound crew shook their heads, and the light crew simply shrugged. Larry sighed, eyes closing as he felt growing the sensation of bitter annoyance.

“Oh, he left.” Janis, the stage manager, said. Larry turned around, her soft smile reassuring him. “Probably on meeting with Mr. Addison. What could you possibly want with the man, Larry?”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. One of the straps of his dungarees falling over, revealing a bit more of his beige shirt. “His prick of a son wants the throat spray.” 

“Ah! He left it somewhere here…” Janis hums, and turns around to go through some of the staff’s belongings by the stairs. “Now that’s odd…” She thought aloud, frowning. “Could swear I had put it on top of my bag….” Empty handed, she huffs, and peeks inside the wardrobe room. Her eyes scan the place briefly and she shakes her head, moving back. Frowning, she looks around and decides on entering the dancer’s changing room. “Where is that naughty little….Ah!” She exclaimed once more and reappeared before Larry, holding a clear glass vial, that contained a light green liquid. “There you go. My, I could have sworn I had put it somewhere else!” She laughs lightly behind her hand. “Must be the new hookah mix!” 

Larry held onto the bottle and nods. “Thank you Janis.” He turns around, more than eager to get this delivery done..

“Ah Larry! Don’t forget to say hi to Todd!” Janis called out as he walked. “He was asking for you earlier today!”

“Will do!” He calls over his shoulder, reentering the lead singer’s dressing room.

“Finally!” Travis exclaimed, rudely snatching it from Larry’s hand. “Took your sweet time huh?!”

Larry opened his mouth to retort, but Travis had turned away, spraying two hearty doses of the liquid into his open mouth. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and mentally reminding himself that murder was still a crime. “Whatever you say Travis.”

“Now out of my way!” The blonde announced, setting the bottle by his mirror and marching out, unceremoniously shoving Larry to the side. Larry stumbled and snarled, unable to keep his anger at bay. “Dickhead!” He called out, Travis not even acknowledging the curse as his black robes swished. 

“He’s here. Places!” He heard someone call out from the stage. 

Larry moved along with the rest of the crew, stopping just before the curtain ended. Travis was positioned center-front, where the public would be able to see him best. Larry huffed. Life was indeed unfair. How come this.... brat that was Travis Phelps deserve the spotlight, the role of Larry’s dreams? 

Tonight’s opera would mix more classical elements than metal ones, and Travis had a big number that transitioned from one style to the other. The expectations were high. He would be praised from the general public to the critics alike, for the boldness of the act and the killer performance. As much as Larry hated him, Travis had been trained to sing all his life. It wasn’t his favorite pitch to hear, but he sang well enough to be kept so many times in the lead singer role. 

He began, spreading an arm out like a wing. 

“Think of me…” Larry mouthed silently, Travis’s higher pitch filling the empty theater. The staff had mixed reactions - sighs, silent appreciation, or sometimes even distaste. From the corner of his eye, Larry could see David, a man who worked with the props, plug his ears. He smirked, but kept mouthing the lyrics to himself.

He knew the song by heart. He had watched Travis train every day, ever since he was cast in the play. Larry loved the piece. It was tender and sad when he sang lyrically, it was bitter and angry when sang with the metal arrangement. A play meant to evoke all sorts of emotions in the public. It was genius.

The orchestra began its fast transition from classical to metal. Travis voice picked up the pace to accompany the momentum of the song, going towards a more dramatic, almost screaming tone. “We never sa-" 

And then, cutting the word in half.... 

He croaked. 

Actually croaked, like big, fat, slimy frog would in its bog. 

Everyone’s eyes widened and Larry swore he heard someone drop on the background, fainting. The orchestra halted with the world’s most out-of-tune F note from a scandalized cellist. A single needle could be heard falling to the ground.

The widest set of eyes of them all were Travis’. He looked thoroughly spooked, as if he had seen a ghost.

“We never…” He tried again and his voice became hoarser and hoarser, broken, like he had gotten the worst sore throat in the history of sore throats. Travis kept on trying, which got him completely voiceless. Silent. He clutched his throat with both hands, panicking.

The staff broke in chaos.

“What do we do?! What do we do?!”

“Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph the lead singer lost his voice!”

A cacophany of cries filled the stage, and Travis fell to the floor, on his knees, downright screaming, soundlessly, at the wooden tiles. 

_ Divine punishment _ , thought Larry, with smug satisfaction.

“We’ll have to cancel the play!” He could hear Mr. Phelp’s voice.

“Impossible! We’re sold out!” Mr. Addison cried back. Both men walked onto the stage to check on the silenced Travis, still screaming to the floor, black running down his eyes as he failed to hold back tears.

“But there’s no lead singer, Terrence!” Mr. Phelps pleaded, pointing to his son. “No one else knows this part by heart like my Travis does!”

“Actually?” 

Someone bumped into Larry as they walked by. Larry looked and it was Todd, who grinned at him as he passed. Todd Morrison was Janis’s son and one of the theater’s dancers, and in this chaotic moment, he was looking as calm as he could ever be. He even resembled his mother. 

“Larry knows it.” He approached the man, hands on his hips. 

“Larry?” Mr. Phelps’ voice clearly held disdain in its tone, and he frowned. “Who is…”

For a split second, Larry swore on his father’s grave that he’d kill his only friend if he-

“There.” Todd pointed straight at him, looking smug. “That’s Larry.”

Silence. 

And then the theater erupted in ugly laughter.

“Larry?! Ha!”

“He’s a handyman, not a singer!”

“His mic will be a broomstick!”

"Better yet! A mop!"

Larry felt his ears burn under everyone’s mockery and scrutiny. He ducked his head, letting his long hair fan out to partially shield his reddening face.

“Actually?" A female voice sounded behind him. "He can sing." The staff parted just enough for Janis to step by his side, hand on his shoulder. Shooting Larry a reassuring grin, she turned to Mr. Addison and Mr. Phelps. 

“Not professionally, of course, but he trains dutifully every day. He works singing.” She pats his shoulder affectionately. “He’s pretty good!”

“Exactly.” Todd supplied, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Ah...Mrs. Morrison…” Larry began softly, raising his head. He wasn't a trained singer, and the theater's handyman, he couldn’t really-

“Ahem.” Mr. Addison cleared his throat loudly, getting Larry’s attention. He turned his head to look at the old man’s short stature. His hands on his hips, furrowed brows and a moustache that covered his mouth, he spoke. “Well, boy? Can you sing or not?”

Larry felt Janis’ hand gently pushing him forward. He walked towards the men slowly, trying to hide his nerves. Travis, on the ground, was skinning him alive with just his glare. Mr. Phelps still looked with disdain. Todd, as he got closer, winked. “You got this!” He mouthed silently.

Stopping on the spot previously occupied by Travis, the spotlight showered him in an ethereal, bright white light. 

This was his dream. He knew the song by heart, the changes in style, the momentum, the highs and lows.

He couldn’t screw it up.

Taking a deep breath, he stilled his beating heart. 

 

“Think of me...think of me fondly when we say goodbye…”

 

The world was a blur. His voice, his deeper tune that had pleased his mother so much when he sang just for her ears, captivated the staff. It caught Mr. Addison off guard.

Everyone fell into motion. Larry barely finished the song and was hurriedly escorted by a grinning Janis and a pleased Todd towards the wardrobe room. They had to fit him quickly for the show - doors were opening in a mere hour! 

And, just like that, like a dream that Larry was unable (and not inclined) to wake up from, he was standing on the stage, in front of hundreds, wearing all black, with a tailcoat he could never have dreamed of wearing. Long hair brushed and tied into a ponytail, he looked stunning. His unmade tie the only pop of color on him, and it was a light blue. 

He sang like an angel when the musicians played classical, and performed like a dark god when it successfully transitioned to the metal. His ending pose had his hand in the air, chest heaving with his long breaths.

The public broke into heavy applause.

Larry gasped, eyes wide as he took in the praise. He laughed softly, barely able to contain the unbridled joy inside him. He bowed, the applause raging on and drowning any thoughts he could be having.

From the central box on the left side, someone stood. They weren’t clapping, like the others around them, but rather, had their wide eyes set on the stage.  


“Can it be…? Can it be Larry…?”

Their hands finally clapped with fervor, pride written all over green eyes and smiling wide lips.

"Bravo!"


	3. Angel of Music

_ The doorbell rang.  _

_ Larry, already knowing of who it was, excitedly turned his head towards his mom, his oversized cap almost falling off his head. _

_ “Coming!” Lisa called out, wiping wet hands on her floral print apron. Larry gets up from his spot in front of the TV and sprints behind her.  _

_ “Ashley!” He smiles as the door opens, his tooth gap endearing.  _

_ The girl on the other side of the door grinned, raising a hand. _

_ “Hey Larry. Hi Mrs. Johnson.” She greeted, holding onto a ball with her other hand. She licked her lips and looked up at Lisa. “Um, can Larry and I play outside…?” She asked, her voice soft and sheepish. Lisa's smile was gentle. _

_ “Of course dear. Be careful though, okay?”  _

_ Larry had already passed by her and joined Ashley on the hallway, grinning at her. His front tooth had just fallen, and Ashley laughed at his goofy expression. _

_ “Race you to the yard!” _

_ “You're on!” _

 

...

 

“It feels so long ago….How young and innocent we were!” Ashley Campbell, a young photographer on the rise, thought aloud, navigating through the corridors of the Addison Metal Opera House, her eyes moving around to find the nearest path to the backstage. Applause from inside the theater still rang, signaling the end of the last act, fueling the speed of her steps. 

As she took the stairs, she made sure to smooth the creases of her trousers, checking to make sure her dress shirt was presentable. 

“He may not remember me.” She murmurs to herself, pausing on the marble steps, considering the possibility. “But….” Taking a step down, she shakes her head, renewing her desire to move forwards and see him again. A smile graced her full lips. “But I remember him.”

 

\---

 

After the bow and the curtain's descent, Todd raced out of the stage, ignoring his colleagues calling his name. He saw that Larry ran off after his own bow, and was excited to talk about the amazing performance. He knew it was Larry’s dream to be on stage, to sing to a great audience and to be praised by it. They had talked about it many times ever since they met, when Todd and his mother joined the theater's staff.

He checked every room on the backstage, every corner he knew Larry hid in to draw or fix broken wires. But Todd had no success looking on those places and, for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel frustrated.

The moment was brief, for he knew where he should go to find him. Taking a door to the left of the janitors closet, Todd found himself ascending flights of stairs. That was the route the curtain and lights crew took, to stay above the rest of the staff, supervising the stage from afar. However, instead of turning right to the balcony where these people worked, he turned left, accessing another doorway. This one gave to a poorly lit area of the theater, one that housed rooms for dancers and staff members who needed a place to crash temporarily alike. 

Todd walked through the stone corridor until he reached the smallest, emptiest room, right at the end. There, he peeked inside.

Sitting on the ground in front of two thin, halfway melted candles, that were lit with soft yellow flames, was Larry. He looked up at a mural, painted by himself, Todd had no doubts. It pictured an angel, seen from the back, their spread wings covering their face. The angel held what looked like a banjo in a hand, and music sheets on the other. Their robes were light blue, almost impossible to tell apart from the painted sky behind it.

“Why in the world are you hiding?” Todd broke the silence, entering the room. Larry glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his friend, turning to gaze at the angel again. Todd sat by his side, folding his hands over his lap. “Really, you were perfect.” 

Larry’s smile was grateful, but serene, above all. 

“I had to come here to light a candle to my father and his angel.” He responded, his voice soft like the lighting. “I'm sure he sent the angel to help me, dude.”

Todd squinted, looking up at the mural then back at his friend. “He sent a what now?”

Larry chuckled, raising a knee up. He hugged his leg, eyes scanning the painting.

“My father once spoke of an angel, an angel of music.” He points at the painted instrument. “He said it'd watch over me after he passed...and I used to dream, and he'd appear.” His eyes turn to Todd, his head shifting the smallest bit. “And, and dude...Now that I sang I could sense him. I  _ know _ he's here. He calls for me, in here… like he's hiding.”

Todd liked to think he was a good friend. But the rational mind in him couldn't help but scrutinize Larry's tale, squinting at his pleased expression. He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder solemnly.

“Larry, it must have been just a dream.” He glanced at the mural. “Stories like this can't come true. This is not like you, my friend.”

Larry laughed, good naturedly. “Come on Todd, you promised you wouldn't pull the skeptic on me.” He lowered his leg, moving his hips up to kneel. Todd cleared his throat, a little embarrassed that he broke his promise.

“Yeah, but-” 

“Cmon, pray with me for a sec.” Larry interrupted, already on his knees. Todd raised a ginger brow, unmoving. The other laughed. 

“Just this once my man. Come on.”

The dancer sighed, and moved to his knees. He joined his hands in prayer position, side eyeing Larry.

Larry closed his eyes. “Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory.” He paused, licking his lips. It was loud in the silent little room. “Secret, strange angel, dad's promise...don't hide.”

There was a split second of silence.

“And amen.” Todd announced in a deadpan. He poked a giggling Larry's shoulder insistently. “Come on let's go.” He got up, watching as his friend, still gazing at the mural like in a trance, slowly got to his feet. “I bet there's people that want to talk to you.”

 

\-----

 

“Excuse me, I want to speak to that new singer!”

“I do too! What a voice!”

“Me three! I know people who would be thrilled to hire him…”

Ashley frowned as there was a small crowd at the backstage, of new fans and admirers of Larry's performance. She expertly squeezed between the gaps to get closer to the door. 

“Sorry dears, but he's freshening up.” A red haired woman spoke kindly, standing between the small crowd and the door to the lead singer's changing room. A myriad of complaints started and she raised two hands up to her chest, in a peaceful manner. 

Ashley opened her mouth and before she could speak, the door behind the woman opened. Larry emerged, his face looking fresh out of a wash and his clothes changed. He had a white, soft looking white button down now, and his hair was loose. He looked surprised to see so many people, and those people began talking louder, trying to get his attention.

She couldn't lose. “Larry!” She called out, and raised both hands so the movement caught his eye.

It worked, because surely, Larry turned to her. His expression turned into one even more surprised than before. 

“A...ash?” He asked quietly, and Ashley grinned in response. Larry touched the woman's shoulder, and she waved Ashley over, allowing her to get through her to Larry.

Ashley squeezed through the small crowd once more and, getting to the ginger that blocked the path, nodded in gratitude. Finally!

“Oh my god. It really is you!” She said, following Larry back into the changing room. She closed the door behind herself and spread her arms wide. “Larry!”

Larry opened his arms and embraced her tightly. “Ashley, oh my god. This is-” He laughed against her head, squeezing her tighter. “This is incredible….what are the odds…”

Ashley held him close for a moment before parting. “How have you been?! I was so sad after the move when we lost touch…” She chuckled lightly. “I convinced myself that I must have written your home's phone number off! I called so many times and it never went through!” 

Larry showed a flash of a painful expression for a split second and it was gone with a grin. Ashley gasped before he had a chance to say anything.

“Oh my God! You have a tooth gap now!” She laughs, holding a hand in front of her mouth. 

Larry feels relaxed. He hadn’t seen Ashley in so long, hearing her laugh sound exactly how she used to laugh when they were kids was like snuggling to a warm blanket in the cold winter.  

“Larry, after me and my parents moved, I started studying art like crazy, and now I’m at this institute…” Ashley began, looking joyful. She was positively glowing. Larry raised a hand.

“Hate to interrupt you, Ash, but like...the House is closing.” He said sheepishly, a hand moving to the back of his head.

“Aw, shoot, that’s true….” She bit her lip, looking down to her boots. Then, she grinned wide, green eyes piercing into big brown ones. “I know! Let’s grab dinner together!” 

“Oh.” Larry said, as soft as he could. His expression was a little sad. “Ah, Ash, I’d love it but I…”

“If you’ve no money on you right now, don’t worry. I’ll pay!” She offered with the same ease she’d offer little Larry a piece of chocolate. And before Larry could even protest she raised a finger. “No buts! It’s been years Larry!” She put her hands together, her big green eyes making a passionate plea. “Please?”

Larry huffed through his nose, but smiled at her anyway. “Alright Ash, you win.”

“Yes!” She cheered, pumping a fist in the air. She leaned in and pecked Larry’s cheek before turning, not seeing his lightly blushed face. She opened the door. “I’ll wait for you outside okay?” 

 

\-------

 

Larry sat by his mirror, a brush smoothing down his mane of hair. He had let it loose from the ponytail, and it left it oddly wavy - he couldn’t have that after seeing Ashley again after so many years! He grinned giddily, unable to contain his joy. What an amazing, stupidly lucky day! His life was surely looking up now.

He put the brush down on the mirror’s dresser, moving his hands to button up the top two buttons of his white dress shirt when a rumble, so loud he thought that some building was collapsing startled him. Larry got up in a jolt, looking around in panic. It couldn’t be the House….he didn’t feel tremors….

A gust of wind came from the direction of the changing room’s full length mirror. Larry blinked. 

_ ‘That’s impossible, this room has no win-’  _ He thought, staring at the mirror. As he gave a single step forwards to investigate…. A voice broke out, coming from the walls around him, loud and angry like thunder.

“INSOLENT GIRL! This slave of fashion!”

Larry felt a chill run down his spine. All his hairs stood, and he was sure the stuffy changing room dropped 20 whole degrees. His eyes were wide like saucers.

“Basking in your glory!”

The voice, it was a man’s voice. A deep voice, and it was angry. Larry swallowed hard. Oh God. He didn’t sound like any of the men that worked in the House, Larry knew them all personally. Then who…

“Ignorant fool! Brave young suitor….sharing in  _ my _ triumph!”

Their triumph? Larry looked around, lost, and more frightened than he’d like to admit.

“Who’s there?!” He called out, hating how meek and helpless he sounded. 

Silence.

It was ominous. 

“Oh come on!” Larry whined, putting both hands on his head, and staring at the floor with clear fear in his eyes. “You can’t just do-”

Like it was closer now, the voice sounded again, a question spoken so firmly it could have been a statement.

“Don’t you recognize your guardian?” 

Larry stared at the old, frayed purple carpet for the longest 2 seconds of his life. Then, slowly dropping his hands from their comforting spot on his head, he looked up. Tentatively, feeling how his lip trembled, he looked up to the ugly pastel salmon ceiling.

“....Angel of Music….?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to get these chapters out as fast as I can everyone, apologies if one takes longer to be published than the other!  
> our main antagonist....? finally makes an appearance!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I got into Sally Face and absolutely loved it. Being a little musical gremlin, I was suprised to find almost no works relating these two things, so I decided to be the change I wished to see in the world.  
> Also! I apologize if the writings a bit rough, its been a while!  
> Comments are appreciated! Hope you like it!


End file.
